


Punishment Game

by angel_b0mb



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Deep throat, Face-Fucking, M/M, Multi, Punishment, blowjob, throat fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_b0mb/pseuds/angel_b0mb
Summary: Ace breaks into Riddle's dorm room, and what he finds puts him in a rather compromising position. He's given two choices: either fill out his punishment the old-fashioned way...or make up for his crimes.
Relationships: Floyd Leech/Riddle Rosehearts, Floyd Leech/Riddle Rosehearts/Ace Trappola, Riddle Rosehearts/Ace Trappola
Kudos: 119





	Punishment Game

**Author's Note:**

> how the fuck is this over 6k words like what the fuck
> 
> this fic is user trappola's fault. i wanted to write florid but couldn't get the angle right...and then i fell into this shallow grave with their inspirational words and dug it six feet deep myself. 
> 
> this fic probably doesn't end how you think it will in terms of the sex scene but thank you for indulging my selfishness and personal preferences as always. 
> 
> music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCMpHbYz9BE

He’s staring down the barrel of a queen’s scepter to certain doom.

At first, he thinks maybe there’s still time to scramble, maybe he can have a chance of somehow escaping this in the confusion, but then a set of large hands grab him from the scruff of his blazer collar and heave him into the room. The door slams shut behind him. Even facedown on the spotless wooden floor, he can still hear the click of the lock behind him. He dare not raise his head. He doesn’t want to meet the eyes he’s sure are boring holes into the top of his skull.

There’s no escape.

Then there’s the click of a second lock around his neck.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

“Aha, you’re really mad, you’re so red right now, you really look like a goldfish.”

“Quiet.”

The toe of a white rabbit slipper comes under his chin, forces his gaze up. What he sees is what he’d originally briefly seen before he’d been blown back by some kind of explosive spell upon opening the door. He’d been hoping he’d been wrong. He’d been hoping he was just tired from over-studying and was hallucinating.

He’s not.

Riddle isn’t wearing any pants, just an oversized nightshirt that is clearly thrown on in haste, the buttons holding it together misaligned into the wrong holes. On his feet are an oversized pair of white rabbit slippers, and as Ace drags his gaze up Riddle’s slim, naked legs, something drips down Riddles thigh from under the shirt hem. Thick. White.

It’s probably only sheer terror that keeps him from hurling the contents of his after-dinner snack all over Riddle’s pristine wooden floor.

Floyd Leech isn’t wearing any pants either, but he’s also not wearing a shirt, and doesn’t seem to have the slightest qualms about being fully nude as he crouches down, half-hard erection between his legs and mouth set in a thin, amused smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s too late to let Crabby here go,” he says to Riddle. “Unless you want him to blab. And we know he’s got a mouth for that.”

“I’ll take care of this, Floyd,” Riddle says firmly, grabbing a tissue to wipe off his thigh and looking completely livid at the very inconvenience of having to do it. “And please, cover yourself. Rule 724 says one does not squat without proper underpinnings.”

“Yeah, I know, yer dorm, yer rules,” Floyd says with a sigh, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the floor and shoving them on before laying himself languidly on the sofa. “Just punish ‘im already so we can get a move on.”

“Prefect, I—”

“Don’t even _start_ ,” Riddle hisses, pointing his pen, which is currently transformed into a long, elegant scepter at the very center of Ace’s throat. “What on _earth_ you are doing, breaking into _my_ room at _ten in the evening_ on a _Thursday_ —”

With each biting emphasis he jabs the scepter a little closer, as though threatening to test just how capable it is at piercing flesh.

“I can explain—”

“I doubt that,” Riddle says sharply, gaze more cutting than Ace has ever seen it. “My door was locked. You picked the lock to my room. I’d love to hear your perfectly good explanation for the reason you decided to invade my personal space.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, swallowing hard as that scepter jabs ever-closer. “I didn’t hear any voices—”

“You that dumb?” Floyd says from the sofa, his voice muffled because he’s currently laying face-first in the pillows. “Soundproofing charms are the first thing ya should think of.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow further, and he looks even slightly more irritated at Floyd’s insistence on butting in, but he just holds that same stance, eyes fixed on Ace’s own, waiting. At this point, any advantage or hope of getting off easy had been lost from the start. He figures the sooner he gets out of here, the less time Riddle has to let his anger stew, the better.

“Augh, to hell with it. I was looking for your alchemy notes, okay?” he says, hoping Riddle will at least be somewhat pleased by his honest attempt at classwork. “I forgot to study for the make-up exam tomorrow and I figured you’d have the notes you lent Deuce last week, so I decided to come snooping, cause I was sure you’d kill me if you found out. There, ya happy?”

The silence in the room is somehow roaring in its quietness, not a sound to be heard until Floyd rolls over on the sofa.

“I’m not happy,” Riddle says tersely. “But I accept the explanation. You’ll keep the collar until you come to me with your satisfactory alchemy make-up exam score. And you’re on flamingo-feeding duty.”

“But they _bite_ —”

“Do you want to be collared longer? I’m letting you off easy.”

“Fine,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief and knowing that’s likely true.

The old Riddle wouldn’t have even given him any sort of expiration date, just an infinite sentence until he simply felt like Ace had repented well enough. And, given what he had just seen in the first place, he was likely lucky to still be alive.

“You may go.”

“‘Kay. And don’t worry, I promise not to tell anyone about your… _y’know_.”

He’s about to leave when he feels himself being yanked back by the collar again, and it’s seconds before he’s back in the same spot on the floor, on his knees, bunny slipper under his chin again.

“Excuse me?” Riddle says, and his expression, if possible, looks even angrier than it did initially. “Not tell anyone about my what?”

“Your…” he says hurriedly, gesturing wildly between Floyd on the couch, who has now sat up with quite a gleeful look on his face and Riddle, who looks like he’s been shoved face-first in a vat of boiling mock turtle soup. “Whatever this is. _Thing_! I won’t tell anyone. I’m not that kinda guy.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Riddle says flatly.

Floyd laughs and slides off the couch to peer down at Ace, head nestled on Riddle’s shoulder.

“Now you’ve done it, Crabby,” he says. “Wasn’t it obvious it’s dumb to address the whale in the room? And now ya did, and ya make it sound like you’re doing your Prefect some neat lil favor.” He smiles as another laugh bubbles out of his mouth, so forceful Ace can count every one of those sharp, gleaming teeth. “You don’t get it at all.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I won’t tell anyone! What’s wrong with reassuring you guys?”

“Because it’s obvious anyone with good manners wouldn’t,” Riddle says, pushing Floyd off his shoulder. “And it makes me wonder if I can really trust you not to tell anyone at all, if you’re the type who thinks he has to reassure me he won’t.”

“I won’t! I swear! Cross my heart,” he says, quickly drawing a little x shape under his left eye. “It was a mistake, please, just let me get back to studying or I’m gonna fail.”

“Well,” Riddle says thoughtfully, “I suppose that would be the thing I would want least, out of all of this. I’ll take you at your word, Ace Trappola. But if I hear the slightest _whisper_ of a rumor—”

“You won’t—”

“I will take your head off. Permanently.”

“Understood.”

He gets up off the floor again and this time is about to quickly skirt his way out the door when, for the third time, he is pulled back by the collar of his blazer. _Hard_.

He finds himself face to face with Floyd, who looks like he’s quickly lost all of the amusement he’d had a minute earlier.

“Too easy,” Floyd says, looking between Ace and Riddle. “I know I promised I wouldn’t meddle,” he says, dragging Ace over to the sofa and shoving him onto it, “but I’m really, really irritated about this. I thought you’d punish him good,” Floyd says, annoyance creasing between his brows, “but ya let him off so _easy_.”

“He is being punished,” Riddle says. “And may I remind you, Floyd, this is my dorm, and not yours.”

“I know, I know,” Floyd says, “but I can’t help it if I’m mad. Ya always have stuff like this, this one especially,” he says, jamming a finger into Ace ribs for emphasis, “ya always say how he’s so much trouble.”

“He is,” Riddle says, coming over to stand in front of the sofa, “but it’s late. It’s not the time or place for it.”

“It’s exactly the time and place for it.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Floyd—”

“You’re not listenin’, goldfishie—”

“You’re the one who’s not listening to the rules you know apply to you while you’re here—”

“Ah, he’s gettin’ away,” Floyd says suddenly.

He’d hoped he’d be able to slip closer to the door while the two of them were arguing, attention intensely focused on each other, but he’s forgotten Floyd seems to have a sixth sense that somehow gives him an intense awareness of movement. _Prey drive_ , Jack had once called it, the spatial awareness of where your prey is whenever it moves. You have to be faster than it, or else it’ll slip away.

And here, he’d badly miscalculated, since there was no way he could easily slip past Floyd Leech, even on a good day.

“Ya know why Azul doesn’t have this problem?” Floyd says, mercilessly dragging Ace back to the sofa by his blazer collar again, which Ace is starting to fear will be badly stretched out of shape by the time he gets back to his room.

“I don’t care why Azul does or doesn’t have anything.”

“That’s not the point. Point is, if this kinda thing happened in our dorm, me n Jade—”

“Jade and I—”

“—me n Jade would just squeeze ‘em. Or well, I’d squeeze ‘em, Jade would probably do somethin’ worse. But we punish ‘em properly so they don’t wanna step out of line again.”

“Are you saying I can’t punish my own dorm members properly?”

Floyd drops Ace’s collar, stands and brings one of his hands to Riddle’s throat, carefully caressing the hollow of it with his thumb before he leans down to say something into Riddle’s ear. It’s a whisper, but loud enough Ace can hear it from the sofa, and he knows Floyd wants him to hear it, too, because he can see the hint of a smile on his lips.

“I’m saying he interrupted somethin’ we were really enjoying,” Floyd murmurs into Riddle’s ear, “and I think he needs to be punished to fit his crime. You should squeeze him good.”

Floyd slowly leans down to press a kiss to Riddle’s neck, something so soft and intimate Ace almost feels ashamed to see it. He’s seen porn more than once, stolen his share of filthy magazines from his brother’s room, and once had even walked in on his brother and brother’s then-girlfriend in a compromising position.

Somehow, this feels filthier than all of those things at once. It’s entirely chaste, a soft kiss, gentle, no biting, no lavishing kisses or long licks of his tongue. Just a simple kiss to Riddle’s throat, and he can feel the heat creeping up the nape of his neck under the cold wood and iron of the collar. He watches as Riddle leans into Floyd’s mouth so subtly, just the slightest shift of his head, but it’s enough that it shoots right through him, right between his legs, and he realizes this feels so different because he _knows_ this person.

He knows Riddle Rosehearts, the tyrant prefect, the one who he’s spent several months sharing a dorm with now. They’re not quite friends, but not quite strangers. Riddle, who he’s never thought of having any sexuality to him at all, who he’s thought up until this point is probably a virgin, is having all of those misconceptions of his unraveled with a single kiss to his throat.

It only takes a moment, but it feels like the moment suspends, time stops and just floats as the blood rushes to his head and then drops and pools hotly between his legs.

Then, Riddle pulls away, and in a soft, calm voice that makes Ace’s guts drop, says, “You know, he is awfully meddlesome.”

“Funny you say that now when Crabby’s over there all frozen like he can’t say a word,” Floyd says with a short laugh.

“Ace,” Riddle says softly, and he stands directly in front of the sofa, arms crossed, mouth set firmly in a thin line. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take the collar off before you leave this room.”

His guts drop out even further, and he feels like if he could look down past the edge of the collar, they’d be a bloody mess on the floor. Riddle’s voice is soft, but his gaze is sharp. Looking directly into his eyes burns, like staring into the sun.

“What’s the condition?” he says, and it comes out a bit more like a mumble than he wants.

“You have to give me the orgasm I missed.”

Floyd laughs. Not just laughs, he cackles, head thrown back and sharp teeth wide. It’s so loud, but somehow sounds so far away, because Ace’s head begins to spin, and suddenly he feels so dizzy, like he’s about to be sick all over the carpet. He dips his head between his knees for a moment to catch his breath.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’m not going to be so disgusting as to not give you an option,” Riddle says. “You can keep the collar two weeks. Flamingo feeding duty. And you have to get at least eighty percent on your make-up exam. For every point you’re under, you’ll keep the collar an extra day.”

“But if I…if I…”

“If you make me come,” Riddle says, “I’ll take it off before you leave this room. No questions asked.”

He takes a deep breath and brings his head back up as the nausea passes. There’s hot flush in his face, and a prickling heat in the back of his neck. Riddle is standing directly in front of him, and sometimes he forgets just how small the Prefect is, his slender chest coming level with Ace’s face. It looks like he could hold it easily in his hands, so tightly Riddle might shatter. The more his eyes linger on that, on the outline of Riddle’s slender waist and ribs through the translucent white fabric, the more he notices other small details. Riddle’s nipples, soft and pink, visible just under the fabric, two small buds. And then, as his gaze dips down, a patch of deep red, only visible as the shirt shifts against Riddle’s thighs, and only for a moment.

There’s a pang in him suddenly, a sudden desire to see that shirt removed, and it comes on so suddenly and so fiercely it’s almost terrifying. He takes a deep breath, weighs his options, and he can see Riddle’s trying to be patient, arms crossed and mouth set in a thin line, but not goading him into anything, not looking at though if Ace doesn’t choose in the next twenty seconds he’s going to explode. When he looks up, when those beautiful, deep blue-grey eyes sweep over his face for a second, long red lashes fluttering, something stirs in him.

He swallows thickly, only to find his entire mouth has suddenly gone dry.

“So do I just have to,” he says, trying to think of a way to word his question without setting off some hidden time-bomb switch, “fuck you?”

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself,” Riddle says, a light bit of distain to his voice. “Something simpler will do. Do we have a deal?”

The more he ponders the offer, the more he tries to decide if getting this collar off immediately is worth such a thing, the more the answer becomes clear.

Yes.

Of course he’s going to take this way out.

He has no particular inclination towards men, but he’s never found himself entirely opposed to such a thing. In the end, he supposes, it’s a much easier price to pay than having to wake up with a collar for the next two weeks. Touching another guy’s dick, in general, has never seemed particularly offputting to him, and Riddle is at the very least pretty, with those long lashes and a slender figure. If there was a type of guy he might say is his type, he might be inclined to say something like that, someone who would be called ‘ _a beauty_ ’ by others.

“I’ll do it.”

“Alright then. Take off your vest and jacket,” Riddle says, hands moving to the buttons of his own shirt. “I don’t want your dorm uniform getting stained."

His fingers swiftly go to pull off his vest and jacket, ignoring Floyd’s leering gaze from where he’s settled on the bed, seemingly content to just watch. Riddle begins to open his nightshirt buttons one by one, starting from the bottom up. It’s something Ace had never thought of as particularly erotic, clothes being removed with such careful precision, but when he begins to see the first bit of Riddle’s thigh, which is clearly still smeared with the remains of something sticky, he finds that heat pools between his own legs again, more intensely than before.

Up, up Riddle’s hands go, and the next button undoes itself to reveal just the edge of his soft length, and then the next one reveals it fully, along with slender, pale hips, sharp hipbones, and a patch of soft red hair that had been lightly visible through the fabric, something he’s seen before in the Heartslabyul shower rooms once but never really thought so strongly about until now. His form is pale, slender, bony, but there’s litheness to it, and the way Riddle stands before him, wearing an expression that’s still the same stern, serious one he wears every day, sets his nerves on fire.

Then Riddle sheds the shirt entirely, and it’s only then he can see the bites that have been lovingly marked into his flesh. Some are fresh, which shoots a shiver down Ace’s spine, but some are clearly half-healed, which makes him shiver even harder and sends a hot, prickling flush through his cheeks.

He reaches out a single hand to touch the one nearest to him, a neat imprint of teeth on Riddle’s left thigh, and finds Riddle shrinks from his touch slightly. Still, he reaches to close the distance, to feel that silken flesh with his own hands. Riddle’s whole body shudders under his touch as he strokes his thumb over those teeth, and his eye catches that of Floyd’s, who is watching carefully, looking quite proud of what is clearly his handiwork.

“So should I just—”

“You can start,” Riddle says softly, looking down on him with half-lidded eyes. “Suck me off. No hands.”

“None?”

“I know how good you are with those sticky fingers of yours,” Riddle says, the knife-edge ringing in every word that drops from his mouth. “I don’t believe in going easy on punishment. But you’ve ended up in my collar enough times to know that now,” he says, taking Ace by the collar in question and pulling it him slightly closer to his hips, “haven’t you?”

He can smell the gentle scent of Riddle’s skin even from here, the soap perfumed with roses he’s used to wash, the scent of new sweat that lingers, and the scent of something else that he can’t place that makes his stomach turn. This is something that’s never crossed his mind to begin with. In his mind, in this type of situation, he’s always imagined himself on the receiving end, never once thought about what it’d be like to taste another boy on his tongue.

Floyd slides off the bed, comes to crouch next to the sofa, head laying on the armrest. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, unable to contain how excited he seems to be just watching this. Normally, Ace would think, it’s a strange thing to be excited by, to see your boyfriend get head from another man, but Floyd Leech has never really been someone who’s struck him as ‘normal’ to begin with.

Riddle takes the hand that’s not got Ace by the collar and pulls on his lower jaw, and while normally he’d object to such a thing, he decides he’s no longer in a position where he wants to make anything worse. Running his mouth and doing what comes naturally has gotten him here, and even if he’s resolved to do this, he has no idea where to really start. Letting the Prefect take the lead feels more natural, with Riddle leading him through the motions.

Riddle pries his jaw open with his forefinger and thumb, yanks down on the collar, and all Ace has to do is lean forward just the slightest bit of his own accord to take him on his tongue.

Soft, it’s softer than he expected. Riddle’s not the slightest bit hard, but he can feel a small twitch when he takes the shaft in his mouth. He’s about to bring his hand up to cup it but remembers ah, that was the rules, no hands, and Riddle does not seem in the mood to bend them. He crosses his arms behind his back and lets Riddle gently tug the collar forward, until Riddle’s soft length hits at the back of his tongue.

Riddle looks down, as though testing something, but he opens his throat best he can, tries to relax. Maybe that’ll get him points here, if he doesn’t gag, if he takes Riddle down whole. He can’t take him deeper than this, but it feels deep enough, his nose buried in that patch of soft red hair, lips nearly kissing it. There’s a scent to it, musky and deep and something that, while the scent of sweat, is somehow erotic and makes his whole body shiver.

“Oh, he’s going at it hard,” Floyd says. “Don’t choke now, lil Crab.”

“ _Floyd_ ,” Riddle hisses, and Floyd falls silent.

He doesn’t know how quite to feel at that, because while Floyd’s commentary is annoying and unneeded, the silence left from Riddle shushing him is somehow worse. There’s nothing but the slick, wet and sloppy noise of him sliding his tongue against Riddle’s length, the sound of his lips firmly sucking around it, which echoes even louder inside his own head.

Riddle makes a slight noise, and he glances up through his lashes, thinking it’s something of pleasure. Instead, he’s annoyed to find Riddle looking down at him, brows knitted together, eyes lidded and glaring at him in frustration.

“You have to move more than that,” Riddle says firmly. “It doesn’t feel like anything at all.”

“ _‘M trifing_ ,” he says around a mouthful of Riddle’s length, and he pulls it from his mouth as far back as the collar will let him, until it falls from his lips and leaves a sloppy trail of his own saliva down his chin. “I’m suckin’ it, isn’t that enough?”

“Hardly,” Riddle says. “I’m not so sensitive I can get hard just from something so half-hearted.”

He jerks the collar harshly so it bites into the nape of Ace’s neck and fists one hand in his hair, pulls him forward, face-first into the crook of his thighs.

“Augh! Not so hard, you’ll break my neck.”

“You know I don’t like half-hearted attempts,” Riddle says. “I can’t forgive you if you don’t put any effort into it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” he grumbles, and he slides off the couch to his knees to get a better angle, steadies himself with his hands on Riddle’s thighs. “I can’t know what to do automatically.”

“Use your head,” Riddle says roughly, giving the collar another little tug. “Would you feel good just from what you’re doing?”

“I _told_ you,” he says, digging his teeth into the soft flesh of Riddle’s thigh on accident as he spits out his words a little too harshly, “I don’t know! I’ve never done this.”

Riddle hisses, and he can’t help but notice the slight twitch between Riddle’s thighs as that. The hand Riddle has placed on top of his head fists lightly into his hair, digging at the roots. His thoughts light up, and he grins into Riddle’s flesh.

“You like that, Prefect?”

Riddle doesn’t answer, so he bites again into the soft sinew, a little harder, enough to leave light red marks that don’t fade the instant he takes his mouth away.

“You do have a lot of bite marks, don’t you? Do you like it?”

“Don’t get cheeky.”

Floyd laughs, and he glances out of the corner of his eye to see Floyd’s eyes are fixed on Riddle’s face, enamored with whatever sort of expression Riddle is making. He glances up through his lashes, and sees Riddle’s eyes have lightly closed, lashes fluttering, teeth set firm into his lower lip. It looks as though he’s trying everything he has not to let out some pleasant noise, not to let Ace know he’s found out some sort of secret he’s not supposed to know and Riddle doesn’t want to reveal.

“Now try,” Floyd says. “You’ve got him a little fired up.”

“Don’t help,” Riddle says tensely through his gritted teeth.

“Don’t be shy,” Floyd says, and his voice comes out so silken, in a tone that seems to curl around Riddle’s body, because Riddle shivers from head to toe, and his thighs shake under Ace’s lips. Floyd gets up from the side of the sofa, goes to stand behind Riddle, runs his hands up the sides of Riddle’s ribs, up to his chest, where he pinches at Riddle’s soft, flushed nipples. “Isn’t it better if he gets you off good?”

“Floyd—” Riddle starts, but he’s cut off, because Floyd dips his head and slips his tongue into Riddle’s mouth, still pinching at those nipples.

It’s a Riddle unlike anything Ace has ever seen, leaning into Floyd’s kiss so hungrily, all of the muscles of his body tensing and then going slack. He leans back into Floyd as Floyd continues to play at his chest, and Ace has the sense that now is a good time for another bite. His teeth sink in so easily, and he bites down, trying to get a sense of how deep to go, but then he feels a shake beneath his mouth, a trembling of Riddle’s legs and hips, and there’s a moan he can half-hear, mostly swallowed down by Floyd, but it’s there.

When he pulls back, he’s made a lovely fresh, pink imprint of his teeth in Riddle’s thigh, shining wet with his saliva, and Riddle’s gone hard between his legs.

He opens his jaw wide and takes Riddle’s erection on his tongue again, feels that hand begin to fist in his hair as soon as he swallows against it. Riddle’s hips begin to move against him, rutting gently into his mouth, and he begins to understand this is the rhythm Riddle was looking for, this sort of back and forth, being fucked against his tongue.

“Harder, now,” Floyd says, and he realizes Floyd is talking to him. “Suck ‘im harder. He likes it hard.”

“Floyd, I said—”

“Look at you, though,” Floyd murmurs, taking Riddle’s chin in his hand and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re getting all red. It’s so pretty.” He licks a trail up Riddle’s neck, goes in for a light bite that makes Riddle’s body shiver again, and his hand fists harder in Ace’s hair. “My pretty goldfish.”

He has the sense to relax his throat again, trying to suck harder like Floyd instructs, deeper, and he opens his throat, lets the head of Riddle’s erection settle on the back of his tongue. Riddle rewards him with digging his nails against his scalp in a way that’s actually pleasant, sending a trembling shock down his own spine as Riddle draws that hand through his hair, rakes his fingers down to the sensitive nape of his neck, then back up.

There’s another sound, the click of something plastic, and the squeeze of a tube, and Riddle’s trembling thighs slacken beneath his hands. He pulls back, a string of saliva lewdly still clinging between his lips and Riddle’s heavy arousal.

“Just keep going,” Floyd says with a hum, throwing the tube of lube onto the sofa, “don’t mind me.”

“Floyd,” Riddle breathes, “I told you not to—”

“We’re gonna be here all night,” Floyd says, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Riddle’s jaw. “I’m just speeding things up.”

Floyd’s fingers dip low, between Riddle’s thighs, and while Floyd had told him to keep going, he can’t. He watches, mesmerized as Floyd’s long, slender fingers, fingers he’s only ever seen put to work holding a basketball or a drink tray, disappear into Riddle’s body. Riddle’s grip on the collar tightens, so much that when Ace looks down, he sees Riddle’s fingers flushed deep red where they’re firmly holding onto the metal.

“Still soft,” Floyd hums into Riddle’s neck, “and still so wet.”

“Just put it in already,” Riddle huffs, “and stop teasing.”

“Now you want my help?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to.”

Riddle turns his head, cranes his neck for another kiss, and Floyd makes a heavy, shuddering breath. When they draw apart, there’s blood between them, bright red and beading from Floyd’s lower lip. He licks it off, and his expression changes just slightly, a shift Ace can see in his eyes, something that goes from playful to hungry in a second, that prey drive roaring to life again.

Floyd takes one of Riddle’s thighs in his hand, lifts it up, and it’s only then, between the gap in their bodies Ace can see just how hard Floyd is, and just how huge. He’s seen Floyd in the showers after gym class a few times, thrown an occasional glance at it, if only out of curiosity at the size. It looks even bigger now than it had back then, red and swollen and he watches as Riddle arches his back, trembles as Floyd slowly sinks him onto the head of his arousal.

The look in Floyd’s eyes is hungry, but his expression is surprisingly soft, and as he sinks further into Riddle, he bends to place his lips on the curve of his neck and bites down, hard enough for blood to well up, and Riddle moans, a lewd noise the likes of which Ace could never have conjured in his wildest dreams. He thinks Riddle can’t possible sink onto all of that, all the way to the hilt but he does, he lets Floyd slowly push into him, an aching pace that makes Ace’s own dick throb between his legs so forcefully that he has to dig his nails into his thigh to keep himself steady. Once he’s all the way in Riddle makes a satisfied sigh, as though he’s finally content to be so full.

Floyd lewdly runs his hand over Riddle’s stomach between those thin hipbones, kisses and curls his tongue into his mouth before pulling away and murmuring, “I’m all the way inside.”

“You,” Riddle breathes, and Ace realizes they haven’t forgotten he’s here, even though the two of them seem to be wrapped up in a pace entirely of their own. “Keep going.”

He tugs forward with the hand still clinging to the collar, knuckles now blanched, and the hand in Ace’s hair comes down the the nape of his neck, holds his head steady as he opens his jaw and once more swallows Riddle down.

This time, it’s not Riddle who moves his hips but Floyd, beginning to slowly move inside Riddle, and swaying his whole body to that rhythm. Floyd’s much less gentle, rougher, and Ace has to steady his hands on the carpet and relax his throat, feeling the pressure of the collar bite into him every time he swallows down. It’s too much, and he begins to drool down his chin as Floyd sloppily fucks Riddle into his mouth, and his vision blurs the harder Floyd goes, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

“‘M close,” Floyd says, and his breath comes out ragged and heavy. “Goldfishie, you close? You coming?”

“Not quite yet,” Riddle breathes, “but go ahead. You can come.”

It’s a strange exchange, the way Floyd seems to almost ask such a thing, but Ace doesn’t have time to think on it, because Floyd’s thrusts begin to get rougher, deeper and more sudden, and he finds Riddle being shoved into the back of his throat. It takes everything he has to relax himself, to breathe through his nose and swallow it down in stride, until finally Floyd makes a wild, animalistic noise and then everything comes to a brief standstill.

There’s the sound of Floyd pulling himself from within Riddle, wet and slick and so filthy it makes Ace feel that heavy ache between his thighs again. Riddle’s hand on the back of his head pulls him off, frees himself from Ace’s mouth, where he’s still not even come, arousal still just as hard and wanting.

He’s expecting admonishment, something like, ‘ _you failed_ ’ or ‘ _disappointing_ ’, but instead Riddle turns to Floyd, who’s behind him, still holding Riddle’s tired body, one arm snaked around his waist.

“Ace,” Riddle says firmly, although he’s not looking at him, and his eyes are still fixated on Floyd’s. “You’ve served your time.”

“Have I?”

“Floyd,” Riddle says, not bothering to answer that question, “you know the rules.”

Floyd gets down on his knees without question, opens his mouth wide. He can’t help but think, if he was in Riddle’s position, he’d be entirely unable to trust his dick anywhere near those teeth. Riddle, however, doesn’t seem to have the same inhibitions, and Floyd eagerly pulls Riddle’s waiting arousal into his mouth.

“Watch closely,” Riddle says, eye flickering to Ace’s face. “This is how you serve a proper punishment.”

He watches as Floyd wraps his hands eagerly around Riddle’s waist, buries his face deep between Riddle’s thighs, and he can see the way Floyd sucks in his cheeks, the way he relaxes his jaw and then just sits there, waiting. Slowly, Riddle buries both his hands in Floyd’s hair, and he begins to move like he hand been for Ace, using his hips to fuck himself into Floyd’s throat. Floyd doesn’t choke, and if anything his hands seem to grab at Riddle eagerly, push him deeper. Drool lewdly drips down his chin, and when Riddle pulls out for a moment to let him breathe, Floyd bites at his thighs, nuzzles into the crook of them and licks a long, slow line up the underside of Riddle’s shaft. He catches the head between his lips, kisses it, sucks at it with such devotion, such reverence.

He’s seen Floyd before doing something he enjoys in club, seen Floyd genuinely having a good time, but this is something else entirely. Riddle is stroking at the backs of Floyd’s ears, running his nails up the nape of Floyd’s neck, and Floyd is humming a delighted noise from deep within his chest. This is more than just mere enjoyment, the way Floyd’s whole body seems to be thrown into this, eager to let Riddle just use him.

Floyd opens his jaw wide again to let Riddle rut into the hollow of his throat, until finally he can see Riddle’s whole body shiver, and he comes deep into Floyd’s throat with a beautiful moan and a sigh. Floyd holds him there tightly, and Ace watches as Floyd’s throat trembles and he swallows before Riddle withdraws from his mouth, hard length softening.

“Show me.”

Floyd sticks out his tongue, and Ace nearly goes dizzy at the intense shock of heat that surges in him when he realizes Riddle is checking that Floyd’s swallowed his entire load properly.

“Good job.”

“You feed me good,” Floyd murmurs, placing a gentle bite onto the inside of Riddle’s thigh. “Goldfish taste the best.”

Then, he raises himself from the floor and goes to flop down onto the bed, as though all of the energy he’s seemingly had up until now has suddenly left at once.

“C’mon,” he says from the bed, patting the spot next to him, “let Crabby go so we can cuddle.”

“Patience,” Riddle says tersely, and he looks down at Ace, expression stern and eyes piercing. “Don’t come to my room again, Trappola, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” he says, biting into his lip and trying to ignore the weird, sinking feeling settling in him now that he realizes they’re done. “You gonna take this off?”

“Only because it’s too much trouble to not release you,” Riddle says firmly, and with a tap of his pen, the collar dissolves into nothing but scattered light. “Don’t make me do this again.”

“Trust me, don’t wanna.”

He slips out the door and finally breathes again properly once it closes behind him with a click this time, and no more hands reach out to pull him back in by the collar. The corridor is eerily empty and quiet, all the lights out save for the candelabras, and the only sound is his footsteps against the checked tile. There’s a heavy feeling still in his guts, a sort of disappointment he can’t shake. Between his legs his dick still aches heavily, and aches even further the more he processes the whirlwind of everything that had happened.

Riddle, as he’d never seen him, open and exposed, letting Floyd Leech sink inside him, and then in return fucking himself into Floyd’s throat.

Floyd enjoying it.

Riddle shivering under Ace’s teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his thigh.

He swallows hard at that, thinking about the way Floyd had looked so pleased to get such praise for swallowing it down. His own tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth, and he’s too aware of it, aware that there’s still the taste of Riddle on it, and he can still feel the shape of him at the entrance to his throat.

It’s too much. He makes a detour for the showers, where he shuts himself into one of the empty bathroom stalls, furiously releasing his load into the toilet bowl with only a few pumps of his fist. His body trembles after the fact, slight aftershocks shaking him, and it’s all he can do to stay there, resting his fists on the cold porcelain toilet tank, waiting for the fever to be over.

He realizes, looking down, he’s left his vest and blazer on Riddle’s sofa, but he no longer wants to go back there, not now, not tonight. Tonight is over, that much had been clear to him when Riddle had dismissed him from whatever that had been. He had been used, nothing but a toy the two of them had tried out and found disappointing.

There’s a frustration in him, and at first he thinks it comes from being used and tossed aside, but as he makes his way back to his room and into bed, he realizes that’s not the case. He lays there, under the covers, and realizes that, more than being used, he’s frustrated at not being more useful. That praise Riddle had extended to Floyd had set a hot shiver in him, a spark that made him realize he was wanting, too.

He squirms under his bedsheets, feeling the heat between his legs growing again, remembering the feel of the collar. There’s still a slightly raw spot on his neck, and he rubs it, remembering how Riddle had fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him forward.

If he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s still the feel of Riddle in the back of his throat, hot and waiting, fucking himself against Ace’s tongue.

_“Don’t make me do this again.”_

He smiles to himself, pulls up the covers, and turns over to lull himself into sleep. More than ever, he suddenly feels very glad turning up to afternoon tea tomorrow without his vest and blazer will likely result in a severe rule violation.


End file.
